


The Best You've Ever Had

by its_ejc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:43:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1597040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_ejc/pseuds/its_ejc





	The Best You've Ever Had

You walk from the bathroom to your bedroom completely naked.

"I'm definitely moving house." You say aloud, missing the feeling of freedom that a lack of clothing gives you. It's the middle of summer, and surprisingly the weather in Britain is acting like it. You open the bedroom window and see the sun beginning to fade into the evening. A taxi pulls away from the front door and you remember John telling you that him and Sherlock would be out all night on a case.  
Thinking about what you'll do with a night to yourself for once, you put on some underwear and take the towel off your wet hair. You leave the room without getting further dressed, enjoying the cooling breeze, and with a blanket under one arm and a pillow in the other you head for the sofa in the only room in the house with a TV. You stumble over the hallway table in the dark, swearing as the blanket drags the lamp onto the floor with a thud and asking yourself why they turned the lights off when they knew you were in? As you bend over to pick the lamp up, another light goes on and a shadow appears over you.

"Oh." A low voice says, and before you've even stood up straight the shadow was gone.

"Sherlock?" You leave the lamp on the blanket and walk into the kitchen, where Sherlock is sitting at the table in the dark. This is not unusual behavior for him, so you don't ask. 

"I thought you were going out tonight?" Leaning against the wall with your right hand on your hip angrily. You are not best pleased that your night already isn't going to plan. Sherlock glances quickly in your direction as you turn the kitchen light on, and off again as you notice you are still only in your underwear.

"Case was cancelled." Sherlock says with a smirk on his face. "Sorry I forgot to tell you." His gaze is set on a spot past you, but you know he can see you in his peripheral vision.  
You sigh and go to look for something to wear, kicking the blanket out of the way on your way to the bedroom. Sherlock hears and chuckles. 

"John's out though." He shouts through. "I can keep you company."

"Oh, great." You mutter to yourself, pulling a vest over your dripping wet hair. Dissecting body parts to keep in the fridge is not my idea of a good night, you think to yourself, raking through your drawers. No bottoms anywhere. You should really do your laundry more often than only when you run out of clothes. You pick up the blanket on the way back to the kitchen, wrapping it around yourself as you go and leaving the lamp on the ground.

"Not going to pick that up?" Sherlock says as you pass him to get to the washing machine. You ignore him as you pull out a soaking wet pair of joggers.

"Ran out of clothes again?" 

He was looking at you this time, right in the eyes, and you notice a bottle of vodka sitting on the table in front of him.

"Are you drinking?" You ask him, frowning at this strange behavior.

"Maybe." He says, wiping a drip of water off your arm that had fallen from your hair. "I'm bored."

Sherlock wasn't one to drink when he was bored. In fact he didn't drink at all. But you don't complain and, never one to turn down a drink, lift the vodka from the table and take a mouthful straight from the bottle. Sherlock watches as you screw up your face in reaction to the strong taste. You look in his eyes and he immediately looks away. Those eyes always mesmerized you.

"I'll join you then." You say, holding up the bottle and then going to sit on the sofa. Sherlock follows you, and begins to tell you about the case that got cancelled. You watch is face, and notice how much more chatty and relaxed he is when he's drunk. You decide to get him drunk more often. He flails his arms about to add to the story and you laugh, swinging your bare legs over his unconsciously. He doesn't seem to mind, and places his hand on your knee whilst taking a drink from the half empty vodka bottle. You talk for a while, the conversation becoming more and more relaxed and less and less like Sherlock.

"What's the best sex you've ever had?" He asks calmly. You giggle and try to think, and he watches you, eyes wandering down from your face to your arms, to your stomach and your legs on top of him. You tell him about the last time you had sex - it was a one night stand and he came back to the house steaming drunk and careless. Sherlock was sitting on his chair in the living room when you stumbled in with a man, hands clasped under his chin with a look on his face like he was your father waiting up for you. "Hi Sherlock..." You giggled, but he just glared at the man and looked away. You remember the man asking who he was, and you think you said, "Nobody." You don't remember much after that, and Sherlock didn't speak to you for a few days later.

"What was up with you?" You take the opportunity to ask.

"I didn't like it." He said simply. "Ok, what's your sexual fantasy?" He asks before you can ask him to elaborate.

"I've never had really, really passionate sex." You say, almost sadly. It had always been with random guys who were too drunk to even do it properly. 

"And what does that entail?" Sherlock asks, still watching you, occasionally glancing at your lips. There was something about his face that made you want him. You look him straight in the eyes, and explained.

"He would pick me up roughly, and push me up against the wall, and kiss me and bite me, and then push everything off the table and throw me onto it-," You notice him glance at the dining table behind you "- and strip me there, like properly rip my clothes off, and then he'd pick me up again and take me into the bedroom and throw me onto the bed and then just take me right there and then..." He is looking at you intently now, imagining everything you are saying. He takes another drink and finishes the bottle with a wince, not taking his eyes off you, and drops it lazily onto the floor where it rolls over to your side. His shirt stretches out at the front as he lifts himself up to kneel, first leaning on your knee and then running his hand up your thigh slowly as he leans over you. You get goosebumps and as soon as he gets to the top of your thigh he picks up the bottle and goes into the kitchen. You sigh as you realize you were holding your breath and turn around to watch him. 

He rubs his face with his hands and groans, then places them on the kitchen counter and bends over slightly. His shirt isn't tucked in and it lifts up, revealing the white seam of his boxers. You get up and walk slowly over to him, and sit on the counter top, your thigh just millimeters away from his hand. he notices and looks for a while, thinking.

"I didn't speak to you after you came home with that man because I didn't like it." He looks up at you, and all of a sudden his eyes are in your eyes and his body is between your legs. He twirls a piece of your damp hair around his fingers. "Because you're mine." 

He pulls your hips closer to him and breathes cigarettes and vodka into your mouth. You inhale the scent, wanting more, wanting him. And then he kisses you. Once. Slowly. Lightly. And pulls away. He looks in your eyes for reassurance, and you wrap your legs around his waist tightly as he takes your face in his hands and kisses you with such force that it makes you dizzy.  
Suddenly his tongue is in your mouth and his hands are around your waist, lifting you up as he spins around to clear the dining table with one sweep of his arm. The vodka bottle smashes on the floor as he leans over you, kissing down your neck and biting your skin. His hands are everywhere and in all the right places, and you briefly think to yourself that he must have done this before.  
He sits you up and pulls your top over your head with one hand, and undoes your bra with the other. Squeezing your breast and biting your lip, he pulls you even closer and you can feel his erection on your inner thigh. You tear at the buttons on his shirt and feel down his chest as he lifts you up again with ease, going around the table and stumbling into one of the dining chairs. You giggle and he smiles while still kissing you as your back hits the wall and he takes the rest of his shirt off, and you both look at each others bodies for a brief moment before he takes your wrist and pins it to the wall above you. Your other hand is raking through his hair as he bites your lip harder, and gasps as he realizes he won't last much longer.  
He takes you into his bedroom and drops you onto the bed, quickly taking his trousers off and he is on top of you again, kissing, biting, feeling, and he presses into you, dragging you further across the bed with the most goddamn sexy look on his face. He holds your waist tight as he kisses and bites his way down your stomach, and takes your pants off in one swift movement. He stops for a split second to look at you before he's inside of you, and your head drops back off the side of the bed with pleasure.  
He moans and says your name as you make fists in the sheets with your hands and moan louder and he bites your neck again and again. He takes your hands in his and pins them above you, moving faster and moving perfectly and knowing exactly what to do. He breathes heavily into your ear and whispers your name over and over into your neck, and you forget where you are and it doesn't matter and you let out a groan as you finish, which turns him on more. He tightens his grip and a second later he stops and groans and drops his head on your chest, loosening his grip on your wrists. Your heart is beating fast and he kisses it through your chest gently before pulling out and looking in your eyes. He holds your hands properly and rolls over and you place your head on his chest, falling drunkenly and blissfully asleep. 

You wake up to the sound of the front door shutting and footsteps on the stairs. The bedroom door is ajar and you can just about see John's figure walking down the hallway through the gap. You hear him stop in the kitchen as he walks through the broken bits of the vodka bottle before coming down the hallway with Sherlock's shirt in his hand and standing outside the door to pick up the lamp from the ground. He chuckles quietly, puts the shirt on the table next to the lamp and goes to his room. 

You look up at Sherlock's sleeping face, and wonder how he will act when he wakes up sober. You slowly remove the duvet from over you and stand up quietly, slightly dizzy with a hangover, and pick up Sherlock's shirt from the table. It smells of the house and him, and sweat and sex. You put it on as you head for the bathroom and look in the mirror at messy hair and tired eyes. You spot red marks on your neck and wonder how he'll act when he wakes up. He most definitely won't be as calm as he was last night.  
You wash your face with cold water and dry it with a towel and when you look up Sherlock is looking at you in the doorway, naked apart from his bathrobe which is undone. He won't speak, just watches you warily. You look back at the mirror and decide that he can make the first move. You turn the tap on to wash your hands, to make some sort of noise, for something to do, and he walks over to stand behind you, looking at your reflection in the mirror. He moves your hair to one side and kisses the bite marks slowly on your neck, then moves down to your shoulders. You sigh with relief. He turns you around to face him and takes your face in his hands.

"I should get drunk more often." He says, and kisses you slowly before leading you back to bed.


End file.
